


Nativus

by Ashura



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashura/pseuds/Ashura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time they reach the surface, it is no longer the barren wasteland the initial scans had indicated.  They stand surrounded by vegetation, lush and thick and a shade of green so bright it's almost gold; by the sound of trickling streams and the growing thrum of insect life.  The tricorders vibrate with each new discovery as lifesigns appear around them with increasing rapidity, and above them coloured clouds rush through the sky like a gymnastic rainbow....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nativus

**Author's Note:**

> For 2012 K/S Advent calendar. Merry Christmas!

One of the standing orders of the _Enterprise_ ' mission is 'when something looks weird, investigate.' While the eradication of so much of the fleet means that Starfleet's flagship spends less time than would be ideal on exploration and more looking intimidating, its crew and captain never actually lose sight of their original, primary objective.

So when Uhura's equipment picks up the signal—barely perceptible, nearby, and unlike anything they'd ever seen before—the _Enterprise_ stops what it's already doing, and investigates.

Analysis reveals the signal to be a simple broadcast beacon, emitting a low pulse into the surrounding space; it has an unusual signature but is otherwise unremarkable. What is stranger is its origin: an unpopulated, uninhabitable rocky moon orbiting a gaseous planet in the Tau Ceti system. Spock has been over all the records Starfleet possesses on the moon and the entire surrounding system, and each one says the same thing: there's nobody, Federation or otherwise, living anywhere nearby. The more he explores, the more his curiosity is engaged (which, he is aware, is perfectly logical. It is, after all, his job). 

He's so involved in his work he doesn't notice the comm buzzing until one of the junior science officers, with a red fluffy Santa hat jammed down around his ears, skids into the lab. “Commander—you're needed on the bridge.” Spock rises, making his way there, deftly avoiding the holiday-themed traps inexplicably providing an obstacle course throughout the bridge—the tinsel over the door to the turbolift, the silver star dangling from the ceiling near the bridge, the extension cord snaking across a corridor to power the multicoloured lights. On earth it may be December, but a starship, Spock often thought, should maintain dignity at all times.

Jim greets him when he reaches the bridge, already out of his chair. “Take a look at this,” he says without preamble, motioning to the science station. “Something's happened to the moon, maybe you can explain it.”

Spock moves hastily to his station, and Jim waits for a genius logical explanation, but none is forthcoming. Spock reads the scan results, looks up at Jim, then reads them again. “Captain, I can think of no natural cause for such an alteration in the moon's geological and lifesigns. Terraforming technology seems a logical answer, but there are no ships nearby, and no planets or known peoples who have expressed an interest in this area.”

Jim is quiet, however briefly—caught as if frozen mid-motion by an errant thought. “Safe enough for an away team?”

Spock reads the results for yet a third time. Jim knows how he hates imprecision. “I do not know. But I think a team made of senior staff and undertaking extreme caution is the best chance of both success and safety. I also believe,” he adds, because he wants all this on record, “that it is not only within the scope of our mission, but possibly obligatory, for us to investigate.”

Which, Jim figures, means he wants to go along. “I think so too,” he agrees. “Get your science kit. Uhura—get suited up too, you'll need to investigate whatever the signal is once we find what's making it. I'll get McCoy and meet you in the transporter room.”

“Aye, Captain,” they both say at once, and Jim heads off at a run. 

By the time they reach the surface, it is no longer the barren wasteland the initial scans had indicated. They stand surrounded by vegetation, lush and thick and a shade of green so bright it's almost gold; by the sound of trickling streams and the growing thrum of insect life. The tricorders vibrate with each new discovery as lifesigns appear around them with increasing rapidity, and above them coloured clouds rush through the sky like a gymnastic rainbow. 

Uhura breathes, “Holy shit.” 

“It is definitely not the situation the original scans led us to expect,” Spock agrees, and Jim thinks even his stoic Vulcan looks a little bit overwhelmed. “Even with advanced terraforming equipment, I am unfamiliar with any process that would create such a situation so quickly.”

“You all heard Chekov,” Jim says, down to business. “It's not going to be stable, so we need to be prepared for anything and get back to the ship. Spock, help me try to isolate the signal's source so we can at least head that direction. Bones, Uhura, start scanning everything you can. We can analyse it when we get back to _Enterprise_.”

None of this is especially unusual, and even if Bones grumbles theatrically about the dangers of wandering around strange newborn planetoids, he cuts it shorter than usual. “You wanted to come,” Jim reminds him, already bent to his task. 

“Somebody has to keep an eye on you,” Bones snorts, but half-heartedly, bent over the silvery roots of a plant that are still moving, slipping like tiny streams deeper into the ground. 

Jim is in the middle of some complicated math, and he trusts his team, which is the reason he's going to stick with for why he doesn't notice that Bones and Uhura have wandered out of sight. When he does realise, it's because the sky has darkened again, a violent purple blending into near-black at the horizon. “That was fast,” he says in some surprise. “Night already?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Spock says, squinting up toward the sky. “We must have appeared at the end of the moon's diurnal cycle.” Or else it's changed in the last ten minutes, though even as fast as things are changing here it seems unlikely that the moon's entire rotation has altered. 

Jim nods. “We can go back to the ship, analyse what we have, and come back in the morning,” he decides. “If there's another climate shift and we can't even see the ground, we're going to have problems.” It's an exaggeration; the light of the planet itself provides a faint glow like twilight, but Spock rather agrees it would be an unnecessary hazard to remain. Jim hits his communicator. “Uhura, McCoy—come back in and we'll beam up.”

“On our way,” Bones says through the faint crackle of interference.

And the ground begins to shake beneath them. 

With Starfleet Academy being in San Francisco, Jim's slept through his share of earthquakes. This, though, puts all of them to shame; he could no sooner sleep through it—or even remain standing—than he could through being thrown from an upper-storey window. It begins with the familiar shrug of ground that indicates what's coming, and Jim sees Spock start and then regain his balance. But then the very earth seems to crack open beneath them. Jim throws himself backward and tumbles down a bank that hadn't been there a few minutes ago; Spock reaches out to grab him and finds himself thrown the opposite direction. Jim grips the ground, sees Spock do the same; he flattens himself along it and holds on tight. 

He's never seen anything like this before in his life—didn't even know such a thing was _possible_. 'Geologic time' is usually used for things that take place over a longer timespan than humans are capable of comprehending, but here is a hill growing in front of him like a giant bee sting, and on the other side of it a sea, bubbling up from the core of what had been only rock a day again. His tricorder's going crazy, but he doesn't let go of the ground to reach for it. There's no way to process this, electronic or human. Or Vulcan, apparently, because Spock looks just as stunned. 

And just as suddenly, it all stops. A crack of lightning forks through the sky, but the ground settles into uneven stillness. Jim turns to Spock, trying to catch his breath. 

“I think,” Spock says, as carefully as if each word requires Herculean concentration, “we should return to the _Enterprise_.”

Jim reaches for his hand without thinking about how they're still technically on duty. Spock, after all, has seen the earth crumbling beneath him before, and it didn't end at all well. It's a testament to how shaken he actually is that he accepts Jim's offered touch, just lying there still for a moment.

“Yeah,” Jim says quietly, “I agree.” The communicator again. “Bones? Uhura? You okay?” 

There is no answer. 

Jim does his best to ignore the sinking in his stomach, and tries for his ship instead. “Kirk to _Enterprise_. Chekov, can you grab all our signals from wherever we are? I think the coordinates just changed.”

No answer there either, which at least makes Jim hopeful that it's his communicator that's the problem. Landing on it can't be good for it. “Spock, you try.”

Spock pulls his hand free and sits up to do so. “Spock to _Enterprise_.” A moment's pause, a definite frown. “Lieutenant Uhura?” He fixes Jim with a worried look, even for a Vulcan. “I think the recent geologic changes may have interfered with communications.” 

Jim rubs at his forehead. “Yeah, I think you're right. Okay, you scan around and see what we can find out about what just happened, and I'll see if I can boost the signal enough we can get somebody to talk to us.” 

He gets to work, though with frustratingly little result. “Too much magnetic interference in the atmosphere,” he says with a sigh. “I don't think our signal's going to be strong enough to get to the _Enterprise_ , but we might be able to reach Bones and Uhura.”

“Especially,” Spock agrees, without looking up, “as they are no doubt attempting to do the same with us.” 

Unless they've been swallowed up by the ground, Jim thinks, but doesn't say it. Bad enough to let the thought cross his mind.

But their assessment is right as usual, and finally Uhura's voice, weak and tinny, sounds over the communicator. “Captain? Spock? Are you there?”

Jim lets out a great long breath. “We're here. Is McCoy with you? You okay?” 

“Yes to both,” she answers, the signal cutting out briefly. “--can't get to you, there's a sea in the way.”

“Stand by,” Jim says, and looks at Spock, and tries to think. They'll make it through this, he's sure, like they do everything else, but it's still crazy.

“Captain,” Spock says quietly. “I believe I have located the source of the signal we detected from _Enterprise_. As this is the centre of the changes it is the point most likely to remain in a stable location—the eye of the storm, as it were. I recommend we all make our way toward it. We can investigate, and ideally reconvene, on the way.”

And, Jim thinks, you really want to see it. But so does he, and he has no better ideas. Waiting out the night when the whole planet can start moving around you at any second isn't going to be any safer than moving. Spock relays the message, and the coordinates, to Uhura, and they agree to check in with each other every hour. Jim stands, gazing for a moment over the mountain and the great sea, and shakes his head. 

“No words do this justice.”

“And yet,” Spock says, with unmistakeable fondness, “I expect you will use them anyway. Come—this way.”

Jim laughs, and follows him.

The going isn't easy, and they find themselves having to pick their way carefully through the dense shadows of an altered landscape. The shapes and shades of the flora are just close enough to those of earth to be unsettling, their features at the same time bizarrely alien. A fernlike plant with great waving fronds and emits a cloud of spores at them as they pass, a delicate flower pokes out a long stamen and stings the back of Jim's hand. 

Bones and Uhura have checked in twice when the next shift happens. It's nothing so dramatic as before, but a crackle of lightning cuts through the sky again before the resulting thunder makes the ground tremble. Spock grabs holds of Jim's arm, but it stops almost as quickly as it had begun, and they both stand very still to see if it will happen again.

No sooner have they caught their breathe, than the roots of a tree cut through the dirt, wrap around Jim's leg, and yank him down. Spock's fingers tighten on Jim's arm, gripping painfully, but it keeps him from behind pulled into the crumbling dirt. For a moment, Jim is the rope in a tug-of-war behind his Vulcan first officer and something like a fir tree. He can feel the bones in his foot crunching beneath the pressure, and it's this sudden flexibility as much as Spock's preternatural strength that free him. He tries to put weight on it and staggers; Spock catches him and holds him up.

After a moment he lets go, and Jim balances against his shoulder with his foot in the air as Spock holds the tricorder over it.

He looks up suddenly, concerned. “The magnetic interference has increased,” he says. “Even the tricorders are limited to basic functionality.”

“You know,” Jim says casually, “I miss Bones, all of a sudden.”

“His expertise would be useful,” Spock allows. “But I do not think this is a safe place to remain, even were he here to examine you.”

Jim glares at the tree. “No,” he agrees, “I don't really think it is.” He takes a pained, stumbling step.

“Captain—Jim,” Spock says almost gently. “I recommend we put some distance between this organism and ourselves as quickly as possible. This will be more efficiently accomplished if you allow me to carry you.”

The thing about Spock is that he pretty much always manages to make things sound logical, even when Jim's privately pretty sure he's full of shit. This time, though, Jim thinks he's probably right. He nods, and Spock hefts Jim onto his back with seemingly no effort. 

“Just till we get to a spot we can stop,” Jim reminds him. “Even we can manage some basic first aid.”

“Affirmative,” Spock agrees, barely even slowing as he picks his way through the foliage.

When at last they find an open space to stop, the sky is darker still and cloudless. Spock does his best to determine the area is safe, without tricorder or lights, and finally lowers Jim gently to the ground. 

“Thanks,” Jim says, tentatively feeling at his foot. “You doing okay?” 

“Affirmative,” Spock says, crouching next to him, but he sounds tired. “I am merely...concerned.” 

Jim watches him pulling a bandage out of his kit. “Me too,” he says, trying to ease his boot off. “Are we even still going the right way?” 

It speaks volumes for how worried Spock actually is that he doesn't take offense to that, or at least the passive-aggressive disdain that passes for offended with Vulcans. “I have calculated the course as near as possible using celestial elements,” he says cautiously. He cups Jim's foot, making him wince at even the faint pressure on the crushed bones, and begins efficiently to wrap it. “But I am unfamiliar with the positions of the various astronomical features from this vantage point. There is only one that I am certain of remaining in any stable position that might be of use to us.” His face turns up toward the sky, and he points; Jim follows his finger to a small but dazzlingly bright gleam in the western sky. 

“I saw that too,” he admits. “Old fashioned navigation, Spock. Mankind always followed the stars, even before they knew what they were looking at.” He's so tired, and not sure he's making any sense. Even though he wasn't walking, each step over the uneven ground had jarred his injury, and fighting off pain is exhausting in its own special way.

Spock says quietly, “I do not believe that is a star, Jim. Logic suggests it is the _Enterprise_. Its position matches our orbital pattern.” He ties off the bandage and hands Jim his boot. 

Jim watches the glittering spot in the sky a little longer. “Even better.”

Spock watches as he pulls his boot back on, wincing, but it won't help if he swells too much to get it back on later. “It would be beneficial for us to rest,” he says tentatively. “But I find myself concerned that the next geological shift might occur at any moment.”

“Not even just the geological ones,” Jim agrees wearily. “Apparently the plants want to eat us. We haven't even seen any animals yet, but with this much flora, they're bound to turn up. I'm also a little worried that if we crash, we might miss a chance to contact the _Enterprise_.” He tries to push himself to his feet—after all, he's not the one who's been carrying his C.O. for the last couple of hours, and if Spock can go on, so can he.

Except he can't, at least not without a _lot_ of effort. He sags, and Spock catches him.

“You know,” Jim says, conversational, “maybe if we just rest a little bit. Catch our breath.”

“I concur,” Spock says, possibly because the alternative is carrying Jim again, and he's more beat than he looks. “Though I suggest you try to get some sleep while the opportunity presents itself. Vulcans physiology requires less rest than human. I will rest but remain awake, and wake you if there is any change in the situation.”

Jim wants to protest, but Spock is probably right. That's why he has such a smart first officer, after all. “But just for a little bit.”

“Of course,” Spock agrees. Jim stretches out on the ground and opens his arms, and Spock, after a moment's obvious indecision, joins him. Jim curls against him, resting his head in the hollow of Spock's shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

“Jim.” It seems like no time at all has passed before Spock is nudging him awake, but the sky has subtly changed again, the black beginning to ease at the horizon's edge. Spock's arms are warm and firm, and after a moment's disorientation, Jim wakes quickly. Overnight—or at least, while he was asleep—the landscape has changed again, though less dramatically. The clearing has become a garden, overflowing with foliage; the grassy place they've been resting has become a bed of small orange flowers. “We should resume our journey, if you are able.”

Jim is pretty sure he's able. He's also starving, and reaches for his kit. “Breakfast first,” he says, “unless we're in immediate danger. Or whatever meal this is. I can't keep track, it's still night.”

“Affirmative,” Spock agrees. “This moon's sidereal day is not as long as that of Earth's own moon, but still longer than what either you or are I used to.” He doesn't protest at the idea of breakfast, but searches through his own kit as well. They sit in companionable silence, munching Starfleet-issue protein bars, and Jim combines three small tablets in his canteen. The components, upon contact, react to make a bitter, electrolyte-rich liquid that doesn't taste as good as water, but is easier to pack. 

“Something's different,” Jim observes, head cocked; he doesn't mean just the new flora and suspects Spock knows it. “The noises?” 

Spock pauses, and Jim can almost see those pointed ears perking up, before he nods. “Insects,” he says slowly, reaching instinctively for a tricorder that still tells him nothing. “...Fascinating.” 

“I've never even heard of terraforming having this kind of result,” Jim admits, gazing thoughtfully down at the small orange flowers stretching toward the night sky. “It's definitely not ours. But whoever did start it apparently wants the same kind of atmosphere. The plants are mostly green, the air is breathable, even the water's right, though I'm not about to start drinking it.”

“I agree it is a fortunate coincidence,” Spock affirms, but offers no other opinion. Jim thinks he must be more tired than he wants to allow. It's true that Vulcans don't need as much sleep as humans, but not even Vulcans are used to spending several straight hours hauling humans through a world that may start growing mountains at any minute. Jim reaches over to brush his fingers across the back of Spock's hand. 

“You okay?”

Spock just nods again. “My efficiency may be slightly compromised,” he admits after a moment of trying to decide whether he should admit it. “But not to an alarming degree. Do not worry about me, Jim,” he adds, turning his hand up to touch their fingertips together. 

Jim returns the gesture, reluctant to pull his hand back. “Noted,” he says fondly. “We can worry about Bones and Uhura instead.” Which, as lightly as he says it, is true—their companions are as likely to be safe as Jim and Spock, but it's still frustrating not to _know_. 

“Dr McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura are exceptionally capable officers,” Spock reminds him gently. 

Which is also true. “I know,” Jim agrees. “And hey,” he teases, the levity only a little forced, “at least we get some alone time?” 

That _does_ get an eyebrow. “I was unaware you felt we required more 'alone time',” Spock says dryly. “If that is indeed the case, I would be willing to provide a list of acceptable venues and activities that are less perilous than the one in which we are currently participating.” 

“Seriously, Spock?” Jim laughs, and squeezes his hand before releasing it. Protest he might, but he actually loves it when Spock teases him. “Right, I'm fed. Guess we can get going.” His head tilts back, his eyes seeking out the glittering light of his ship in the sky above them. 

He starts off walking, but it's slow going and clearly frustrating Spock, who after a while of supporting him on his injured side suggests with as much diplomacy as he can muster that he carry Jim again. He waves off Jim's protests and points out, “I am aware you would do the same if our situations were reversed,” which is the most tactful thing ever, because Jim would definitely try but would probably not actually be able to keep it up for hours at a time. 

While they'd detected no animal life before they stopped to rest, whatever changes had been wrought while Jim was asleep have brought them now in abundance. They see primarily insects at first, but later some apparently feathered avians burst from a nearby bush, and another can be seen tapping its beak against a tree like a woodpecker, if woodpeckers had lizardlike tales and feathered ruffs around their neck like an Elizabethan noble. Jim holds the tricorder out; it's not working reliably but anything is better than nothing. The rest he's trying to memorise, and suspects Spock is doing the same. 

At last the tricorder sounds the telltale _beep_ that says it's working again, and without needing to discuss it they stop. Spock sets Jim down gently and they both turn their attention to scanning, recording, and trying to get back in touch with the ship.

No luck there, but it's only a matter of time, so after a little bit of a rest they get moving again. Even though they can now pick up the insistent pulse coming from the beacon, Jim finds himself looking up anyway, searching out the glint of the _Enterprise_ in the slowly lightening sky.

“It appears Spock says, gazing intently at a tiny segmented insect inching its way along a wide, crimson-blotched leaf, “that the situation is stabilising at a consistent rate. If the reduction in interference continues at this level, we should be able to contact the _Enterprise_ again by sunrise.”

“Good.” Jim rubs at his ankle, really beyond ready to have Bones start getting him patched up. Spock watches him for a moment, then breaks off a tall, thin branch from one of the nearby trees and hands it to him. 

Jim grimaces, sheepish, but takes it. “Thanks. Figured we were trying not to interfere with the native species, you know?” 

“It is necessary,” Spock says simply. Oh, it isn't if he wants to go on carrying his captain, but Jim would really rather move under his own power and Spock could probably use a break. “And we are close to the source of the signal, now. I believe we are unlikely to cause significant damage at this juncture.” Jim leans heavily on the walking stick, the tricorder in his other hand, and once again they start off. The sky has lightened to a thick, woolly grey, just enough for the trees and bushes to spread their long shadows across the ground. 

It's almost anticlimactic when Spock says, “We are very close,” and picks up the pace, his long legs striding at a clip that Jim, balanced on his walking stick and letting it take most of his weight, isn't up to matching. He does his best, though, hobbling along after him, feeling his way through the dense underbrush in the long morning twilight. 

When he catches up, Spock is knelt next to a white globe, no larger than Jim's clenched fist. He looks up at Jim with a look that Jim, having some experience by now in deciphering Vulcan expressions, can only read as wonder. “I have located the source of the signal,” he says in a low, awestruck voice. “Jim, come and see.” 

Jim limps over and lowers himself to the ground. The globe is nestled in a small hollow. Up close it looks fragile, more like a chrysalis than a machine, with a strong, sweet scent noticeable as soon as they're close. 

“It is...decaying,” Spock says, as if each word is a piece of a puzzle he's now determined to put together. “It seems that there are layers, which are each absorbed by the planet in turn. It may be that their moulting corresponds with the more dramatic changes on the surface. The evolution of so much life in such a short time is unprecedented, but this is definitely its source.”

They both turn, startled, as there's a bit of crashing in the underbrush behind them. It's not any of the fauna they're both sure is evolving as they speak, but rather McCoy and Uhura, both looking worn out and dirty. “Good timing,” Jim says, with more relief than the words themselves convey. 

“We do our best,” Uhura says, graceful even when rumpled and with bits of leaf stuck in her hair.

Bones just takes one look at Jim and shakes his head. “Managed to bang yourself up again, I see.” 

“And I really want you to patch me up,” Jim says, “but first you have to take a look at this.” 

Spock is more than happy to explain what he's found, though it's clear even he doesn't understand it. “It appears to be organic—animal, even,” he explains, “though the signal is certainly electronic. Whatever, or rather whoever, planted it here has capabilities for bioengineering far past those of any world in the Federation.” And Jim is pretty sure Spock would just love to talk to him.

Uhura joins him, crouching over the beacon, running her scanner over it as close as she can without touching it. “It's like a heartbeat,” she says, mostly to herself. “With the frequency of the broadcast signalling the—I think that's what provoked all the changes. When one layer decays a way, the frequency changes just a little, and it triggers a new stage in the process.”

“So it's...giving birth?” Bones asks bluntly, staring down at the globe like a head might burst out of it at any moment. “Huh. Well, I guess maybe I've seen stranger.” He doesn't sound convinced.

“I am not certain that I have,” Spock says, standing stiffly. Jim, not normally short of words, is too tired to think of something witty, and just slings an arm around his shoulder. Spock stiffens, as if in the first moment he might protest, but then adjusts Jim against him, holding him up.

“That, for instance,” Bones says, but it doesn't look like he means it. 

Above them the _Enterprise_ glitters like a morning star, and around them, a new planet awakens slowly to life.


End file.
